My brain is so full right now, that it’s hard to know where to start. There is just so much going on. The murder of an insurance company CEO, the fight to eliminate vaccines, the Wicked movie, the TIME cover, wildfires. My brain is quite literally filled to the brim with information. And I have so many thoughts and opinions and so much that I want to know, want to understand.
I’m not going to write about any of that though. Not now, and maybe, not ever. So many people have written about these issues. They have blogged and meme’d and reel’d themselves into high heaven. There is support and outrage and sadness and anger and curiosity. There is a lot of humor- some misguided and misplaced, and some, dead on.
I’ll admit that I likely fall in the center of the spectrum when it comes to most of what I’ve detailed above. I don’t know enough in some instances to formulate an opinion that is anything other than highly emotional, and with other matters, I’m so fired up that I’m not sure where to channel all that’s swirling inside of me.
So, I made a decision to pivot. I decided to turn my back on all of the insanity and move in another direction.
I give a lot of advice here. With most of it, I offer a qualifier that I’m no expert- but rather, a human trying to sort things out as I move along. Most of the time, I’m in a better position to tell you what’s NOT going to work because I’ve crashed and burned. Most of the time, I can describe in explicit detail all the ways in which you can meticulously or carelessly, shatter your own heart into a million pieces. And so, I usually implore you to try something different. Sure, things might work out for you. My catastrophe might have been purely circumstantial, but still, why take the chance? Right?
I’m giving you permission to imagine me at the bottom of a dumpster yelling: “here’s how I got down here- try something different.”
I am not a ‘do as I say and not as I do gal.’ I’m not. But I do tend to need to do things wrong a million times before I consistently do them in a way that serves me. I need to two-step forward and back, over and over and over again, before I pause. I need to pretend or imagine that it will be different this time or with this person before I’m brought to my knees and concede that I was wrong, again.
A friend checked in with me the other day. I confided that I have been feeling somewhat adrift. I shared that some friends have moved away from me lately and it had been giving me this unsettled feeling. I feel uneasy. She didn’t reply right away, but when she did, she wrote the following: “It’s interesting that you see them as moving away from you. And maybe to you it’s no different because the result is space but I see it as you having moved, not them.”
Boom.
Fucking, boom.
I moved?
I. Moved?
I. Moved.
I did. I decided to move and when I moved, they didn’t move with me. They stayed put. They stayed resolutely in place. And that’s okay. That’s better than okay. That’s good. Really good. Because they are authentically who they are, and I am finally understanding who I am and what I need.
My inclination would be to retreat. My go-to would be to look behind me and upon observing the ever-growing distance between me and them, I would work hard to close the gap. Not this time. This time I sat down, took a breath, and squeezed my fists tight, watching the distance grow. My heart feels heavy. My body feels heavy. I feel terrified. And still, I didn’t move. I haven’t moved. I didn’t fix. I didn’t even patch. I just let things move away from me. I allowed myself to move away from the old version of me.
The version that no longer serves me.
That is so goddamn scary and also, maybe it will be the best thing I’ve ever done.
Right?
Because for the first time ever, I’m trying to understand what feels good outside the weight of judgment and the need to please. And no, I don’t mean I’m a people pleaser. I mean I’m an apologist. And walking away from that doesn’t mean I’m interested in being a bully or bombastic. If anything, it means I can be quieter. I can find the purest version of me, the one that lives deep beneath layers of scars. The one that wants to love but only loves those who are deserving of love. The one that has a voice and isn’t afraid to use it. The one that looks at people, at supposed friends, and says: “take me for who I am, or leave. I’m not interested in changing to suit you. Not anymore.”
I have strength but it ebbs and flows. It circles around me and sometimes, escapes me. Sometimes I don’t know where it is when I need it the most. And then, I find it in other places. A local writing contest, a terrifying race, an adventurous vacation. A new book. New books. So many new books. A hug from my mom. A bad joke from my dad. A laugh from my sister. Anything from my niece and nephew. Hot chocolate with marshmallows on a cold day. The way I love and want to help those in need in the purest way. In the way where it hurts not to. The sunrise. A tie dye knit hat. Perfect cherry tomatoes. Ice cream on any day. A hotel room with perfectly curated details. Crunchy leaves. Christmas lights. Hanukkah latkes. Pillows that smell like sleep and blankets that smell like comfort. So many things that fill my heart and feed my soul and fuel me. So many goals to set and move and bucket list items to cross off. Places to fail and also, to win. Starting over. Again, and then, again.
I doubt myself 100 times a day and believe in myself only once, usually, and that’s the time when I decide to do all the things.
What’s my point? I’ve failed. I’ve failed myself and I’ve failed you, but here’s the thing: I keep trying.
Like every fucking day.
I get up every day and I take a breath and I try, again.
And this time, I feel like it’s working. For now.
And that’s really something.
So, as we wrap up this year, my sentiment to you is simple. The simplest.
Keep trying.
X
L.
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